Like Sire Like Son
by Nitrobot
Summary: Now that he's an Autobot, Knockout decides it's time to make steps towards cleaning up his name; starting with his estranged son. [post-canon]


It should have been a day of all smiles and celebrations, pats on backs and embraces that went on for too long. Smokescreen should have been overjoyed, his home restored to glory and his new friends still alive to see it.

But all he could think about was the traitor in their midst, and the fact he'd now be seeing him every day for the rest of his life.

"Knock knock."

Smokescreen heard Knockout's voice even over the dampening effect of the pillow over his helm. He pulled it off with a grimace and stared towards the door to his new quarters- some kind of cleared out drone dormitory on the Nemesis. "What, too scared of chipping the paint on your knuckles to knock properly?"

There was a reply of notable silence to his accusation, and after a few klicks Smokescreen thought Knockout had gotten the hint and fragged off. Primus decided to torture him this evening though, as the door slid open to admit his cursed sire. Smokescreen rolled over on his berth and turned his back to him, winglets twitching in agitation. "Do Decepticons not teach any manners?"

Knockout didn't skip a beat. "No, but they do teach how to crush a disrespectful vocaliser without having to move an inch."

Sarcasm settled onto Smokescreen's glossa like a fine drizzle of energon. "I missed you too, Dad." It was the first time in centuries he'd ever uttered the word, and it shocked him as well as Knockout. He could tell his sire was thrown off by it- he never let more than a nanoklick past without having the last word.

Knockout coughed static through his vocaliser- he always did that when he was anxious- before speaking. "I know you've never obeyed me in the past , Smokescreen, but will you at least look at me?"

Either there was an unfamiliar hint of pleading in his father's voice or his side was starting to go numb, as Smokescreen ended up giving in and flopping himself over. Glaring at Knockout, the crimson armour dull in the dim light of the dorm, he saw a splotch of grey on the right side of his faceplate darker than the rest of the metal. His claws tenderly rubbed at it, almost self-consciously. "Still smarts from when that human... greeted me," he said with a small chuckle at himself.

Smokescreen raised an eyeridge, slightly disturbed by the sudden absence of superiority in his sire's voice. He quickly got over it and looked away, pushing himself upright on the berth. "She should'a aimed a lot lower."

Though he didn't see Knockout's expression, he could tell he was smiling from the smugness creeping into his sigh. "And here I thought war was supposed to age bots, yet you still have a sparkling's processor."

Smokescreen's optics snapped back upwards with speed to rival Knockout's own engine. "What do you want?"

As usual, Knockout couldn't hold back a smirk. "Well, that's the million credit question, isn't it? I _want_ to go back to when I still had a skyscraper in Praxus and Megatron was still nothing more than a nuisance to the Senate. I _want_ a stiff glass of high-grade but your ever exalted Prime seems to be re-enacting the Praxus Prohibition around here..."

Smokescreen stopped listening at the mention of Megatron, hoping Knockout would tire himself out on reminiscing and finally leave him alone. His audios ended up drifting into range at some point near the end of his spiel, just in time to hear the impossible.

"Most of all, I want... to apologise."

Either the day was ripe for impossibilities, or Smokescreen's audios were severely glitching. He could only stare at his sire for a few long klicks, fiddling with his digits and hoping his jaw wasn't hanging slack from shock. The familiar hatred he'd harboured for so long kept trying to surface and break through his stupor, but the sheer bewilderment of it all kept it firmly hidden for once.

Eventually some managed to leak through though, casting Smokescreen's face in a scowl as he scoffed doubtfully. "I'd ask for what, but only cause there's such a long list of slag I'd sworn never to forgive you for."

Knockout seemed to smile sadly, folding his servos behind his back. "Let's start with the most obvious one, then. I'm sorry I joined the Decepticons, knowing you were part of the Autobot Guard."

Smokescreen creased his optics, the scowl refusing to budge. "An explanation would be nice."

"I didn't join by choice," Knockout explained, still with that remorseful tone that didn't suit him. "I wanted to stay as far away from the war as possible, but... Megatron had heard of my reputation. And he wasn't content to let my skills go to waste."

"So I'm supposed to believe you were just a victim like everyone else you helped kill in the past seven centuries?" Smokescreen neglected to mention how many of them were his friends, but he was sure Knockout knew all about that himself.

"Believe whatever you wish. I'm simply stating facts," Knockout said with a shrug and a weariness that proved his unwillingness to defend himself.

Smokescreen huffed, crossing his servos over his chest. "Alright then." He kicked himself onto to his peds and shot up from the berth. "How about you tell me how I've never known what femme carried me?" He was marching towards Knockout, clearing the distance between them with every word as they grew louder. "Or why she left me with _you_ of all mechs? How about why my brothers were the whole world to you and I was always 'the mistake'? How the frag do you plan on justifying the Pit you made of my life?!" He was practically spitting in Knockout's face in his fury, cycling air in heavy gulps that overworked his cooling fans.

Knockout said nothing, not even moving to wipe the fluid drops from his armour. He vented deeply, as if preparing himself. "Smokescreen, you never knew your grandsire, did you?"

The question was so out-of-the-blue that Smokescreen forgot to be angry for a klick. Confusion masked his rage and allowed Knockout to slip past him, still talking quietly. "You never knew what kind of mech he was... or the mech he made me into."

Eventually Smokescreen came back to himself, in time to see Knockout seating himself against a wall. "Just what I wanted, more excuses..." he muttered bitterly, taking a seat opposite his sire.

Knockout waited until his son was seated and then a little longer before speaking. "Have you ever heard of Straxus?"

Smokescreen frowned, trying not to put too much effort into remembering. "Kinda... once a medic for the high caste, ended up joining the 'Cons when the war started and got control of Polyhex." He missed his sire's grimace at the mention of the long lost city. "What's he got to do with anything?"

Knockout tented his digits under his chin, studying the floor. "Because once he was bonded to a femme called Firestar. And that femme went on to birth me."

Smokescreen's optics widened, but he didn't have time to say anything before Knockout continued. "He had great plans for me, to inherit his position and carry on his legacy. But... he became seduced by the Decepticons, the idea of ruling himself rather than serving others. My carrier divorced him as soon as she discovered where his alliegance lay. The war began not long after, and I lost all contact with him." His digits started to tremble slightly against each other. "I managed to forget about him until I heard of Polyhex's destruction and the part he played in trying to bring soldiers back from the Allspark."

Even with his optics still wide from surprise, Smokescreen rolled them. "So my grandsire's a dictator _and_ a mad scientist. Good to know."

Knockout shot a warning glance at the mech, but immediately delved back into his tale. "He betrayed me in more ways than one, Smokescreen, even after the last time I spoke with him. I don't try and use him as an excuse for my actions, but I hope it gives you perspective."

Smokescreen made a dismissive noise. "Can't tell you what it gives me. Any other pretty stories you'd like to share with the class, Dad?"

Irritation flashed over Knockout's face too quickly for most bots to notice, but Smokescreen had seen the look often enough to instantly recognise it. "Your carrier..."

Suddenly Smokescreen stopped lounging, his backstrut ramrod straight and his expression pure curiosity, a longing to know. Knockout didn't miss the change in disposition. "She was beautiful," he said with a sincere smile, letting his servos rest in his lap. "All femmes are beautiful, really, but... Primus made her special." He nodded to Smokescreen. "You have her armour, and her optics. Every time I look at you I think of her... and how I lost her."

Smokescreen tilted his helm, almost scared to asked. "How did you lose her?"

Knockout's optics clouded over, and his words became distant. "She disappeared. All she left behind was a note and you on my doorstep nine vorns afterwards." Static cleared his vocaliser and his optics, and he returned to the accusation of reality. "Your brothers, meanwhile, were the product of a one night stand with a Kolkular pleasure bot. Apparently her firewalls were malfunctioning and I should have expected it from the discount she had." He shrugged, ignoring the disgust flickering on Smokescreen's face. "I saw a chance to start anew in them, to forget about the past. I let nanny drones care for you because I didn't trust myself to raise you right. Your carrier was too good for me, so... I suppose it applied to you as well." He ended the prediction in a mumble that Smokescreen almost didn't catch. He wasn't sure what to say to it, didn't know what to do with the new knowledge confronting him. The centuries that made up his life so far spilled out in front of him, thrown in a new light that made too much sense to him without all his old assumptions tacked on. It wasn't the first time in his life he'd been wrong, but never before was it on this big a scale.

And Knockout was still talking all the while. "I'm not delusional enough to think I'm anything like you, Smokescreen. I've never made any friends in the Decepticons. The closest allies I had were a Seeker who couldn't tell his helm from his aft and a retired gestalt who couldn't tell a Scraplet from a petrorabbit. Both of them got themselves killed, and I'm glad they're gone."

He leaned forward, putting a servo on his knee as he looked into Smokescreen's optics. "I'm here telling you all this because I want to start a clean slate. For the first time in my life I feel like I can change for the better, and I want to." Suddenly his gaze dropped, unable to face the judgement in his son's eyes. "But despite that, I understand if you can't forgive me. Give the word, and I will leave you in peace from here on out. It will be as if we didn't even know each other."

Knockout's offer was answered with only a contemplative silence for a long few klicks as Smokescreen sat stewing it over. He fiddled with his digits and his winglets fluttered like they always did when he was deep in thought. Knockout studied him closely, unsurprised when he finally spoke. "Y'know, Optimus always talked about second chances. How every Decepticon deserved a chance to fix their mistakes. Course, I'm not as good as Optimus, so I'll give you this for now." He leaned forward as well, challenging the red of his sire's optics. "You show me how you'd treat me as your son, not as a punching bag or a burden, as your _son,_ and you promise to keep it up from now on... and I'll think about it."

Knockout glanced down at the servo stretched out towards him, unarmed and unsuspicious, and for the first time in centuries his spark settled into peace. "I can do that." He closed his claws around his son's digits and shook his hand, and the smiles on both mech's faces were genuine. Knockout's especially seemed filled with a secret relief, and Smokescreen foudn out why a klick later.

"Since my sire duties start now, you're grounded for swearing."

" _WHAT?!_ "

 **xx**

 _Don't ask me to explain why I think Knockout is Smokescreen's dad, cause even I can't put logic into it._


End file.
